


A pull so strong

by keyflight790



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Mark, M/M, Mentions of Minor Character Death (canon), Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28157097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790/pseuds/keyflight790
Summary: Draco's soulstring is destroyed by his Mark, until a specky (attractive) wizard saves the day.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 124
Collections: Harry/Draco Owlpost 2020





	A pull so strong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rainsoakedhello](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainsoakedhello/gifts).



> Rainsoakedhello, I am a huge fan of your art, and I was so excited to write you a little something. I was inspired by your quote, “I recognized you instantly. All of our lives flashed through my mind in a split second. I felt a pull so strongly towards you that I almost couldn't stop it.” Thank you for sharing your talent with our fandom!
> 
> Thank you to Phe for the betaing on this! I appreciate you!

The Dark Mark had taken everything from him (freedom, family, happiness to name a few), including his soulmate.

Not that a soulmate would want to be connected to a Death Eater. But there was a reason they had never Marked anyone under the age of 17. They didn’t care about consent; that thought never ran through his father's or anyone else’s minds when they branded an underage wizard. 

They did care about continuing the wizarding lines, though. Pure-blood branches strengthened by generations of proper breeding. And with the Mark blocking his soulmate string from curling out of his wrist, how was supposed to find his perfect match?

It really didn’t matter. Astoria Greengrass had already been claimed as his betrothed (who needs a soulmate when bloodlines must be maintained), and as soon as the Dark Lord succeeded in his mission they were to be wed. Their heir would be expected less than two years later, and that was that. 

It wouldn’t matter if Astoria was at the other end of his string; The Mark had severed any chance of that connection. Her string could be connected to someone else, but that wouldn’t matter either. What the Dark Lord wanted, the Dark Lord was given. Whether it be a blond to do his bidding, or a messy-haired kid with glasses to die at his feet.

Sacrifices were made, and his father benefited. 

And so Draco returned for his eighth year, marked, claimed, owned by the Dark Lord and his minion Death Eaters. He returned, knowing his future wife was just classrooms down from his own, two years away from finding out who her own soulmate string was connected to and knowing she could do nothing about it. 

He didn’t even have Potter to torture; the git had ran off for the year, trying to escape his own fate. Draco didn’t have the luxury. Maybe the four-eyed twat was already dead; that would really piss off the Dark Lord, knowing someone else had the pleasure of Avada Kedavra-ing the fucker. 

Instead he focused on class, and on the (horrid, chilling, malicious) Carrows. What else should he have done? Traced the lines of his healed Secrumsempra scars? Think about his past war crimes or nuptials? Pulled himself off? As if he had any will to try and imagine some bird bouncing on his cock. 

Never was much a distraction for him anyway. Better to focus on the task at hand, not  _ in _ hand.

Yes, everything was progressing nicely. He only had days before he was done with school, and then he could find an apprenticeship with Borgin & Burkes, or even the Apothecary if he was lucky. If the Mark on his wrist didn't keep them from even reviewing his credentials first.

Until Scarhead showed back up.

Potter (strong, courageous, handsome, no he isn’t, shut up) appeared, his wand, his magic flying everywhere. The type of magic Draco had never seen before. Stronger than his fathers wand; more powerful than the Dark Lord himself. 

Draco couldn’t stay. He needed to run, to hide. His father knew the downfall was coming before the final war even began; he could feel the growth of power, the strength of Potter, pulsing in the dark nights sky. They fled, three Malfoys with their wands between their legs, and before the castle even left his eyesight, Draco knew the war was over. He knew Potter had won.

The destruction of the Dark Lord brought on a many of things; the air seemed crisper, a warm summer balm replacing the equinox chill; the stars twinkled brighter, flitting through the black-grey sky with a whimsy unmatched; and Draco’s Mark disintegrated like a sun-burnished haze, peeling in charcoal layers until all that was left was milky skin. 

In the pink rawness, Draco also discovered a lengthened string (crimson, tethered, frayed) joined to another. Attached to his soulmate.

He brought the evidence of his newfound absolution straight to his mother, with desperate glances. Her soft smile and gleeful stare told him all he needed to know; Draco could begin the journey to discover his perfect half.

Of course there were other items that needed to be handled first. The great Death Eater trial, for one. He stood nervously in front of the entire Wizengamot, stated his case of innocence, and awaited the consequences. What he hadn’t expected was Potter.

Potter, protector of all, chosen to stand up for what is right. Master of Death, and soulmate to one. 

His own string lay damaged and dangling out of his wrist, a minor inconvenience pushed aside for bigger triumphs. Until he looked at Draco, locking piercing green with concrete grey. The rush that cascaded between the two shook the entire courtroom. 

It was as if a wave from the North Sea crested over his body, pummeling thoughts, feelings and emotions into him in its salty torrent. Suddenly his past, the courtroom of his present, and the wistfulness of his future coarsed over him. He knew Potter was experiencing the same, their strings twining together over rows and rows of judging wizards and witches, knotting and becoming one.

Draco felt a pull so strong towards his soulmate, towards Harry, that he couldn’t stop himself. He flung himself out of the confinement of his judgement box and into Harry’s arms, holding him steadfast. 

Harry was his, and he was Harry’s, and he couldn’t imagine it being anyone else. Everything they had been through had led them to this moment, their soulstrings tangling both of them into a bond that could never be broken.

When Draco finally willed his body to peel itself off of Harry’s (strong, muscular, oh gods, so hot) body, he finally dared to look into Harry’s emerald green eyes.

“Scared (terrified, angry, aroused), Potter?” 

“You wish.”

Of all the things Draco had ever wished (banishing the scar, setting the Cabinet on fire, Crabbe alive), being in Potter’s arms had never seemed a possibility. And yet, here they were. And it was so much better than any other wishes he had ever made. 


End file.
